


Great Vengeance and Furious Anger

by SonjaJade



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Cannibalism, Forced Abortion, Gen, Guro, Murder, Psychological Torture, Role Reversal, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-10-11 22:12:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10475535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SonjaJade/pseuds/SonjaJade
Summary: Barry meets Truth and is treated to reliving one of his favorite murders- from his victim's point of view.





	

The flesh scraped the blood seal away, Barry’s voice crying out for mercy even as the body refused to obey…  And then there was nothingness.  He couldn’t speak, he couldn’t hear, he couldn’t see… but he could _sense_ , and he had a gut feeling that the body hadn’t been long behind him in coming back to this place where it had all begun.  It was just like when those damned doctors with their smug smiles kept giving their condescending reassurances that ‘everything’s going to be alright’ and to ‘just relax’; it was just like that, consumed by anxious fear as his soul and his body floated separately in a vacuum of pure whiteness.  Sort of like being high on opium: just drifting around in nothing.  Kinda like being dead, except that Barry had always assumed death was black, and everywhere was a never-ending expanse of white.

But that feeling of- emptiness? contentedness? _nothingness_?- didn’t last long.  Barry gave a howl of pain as long severed nerves between soul and body began to rejoin and reform.  That ache in his left knee from an injury he’d received as a kid was still there, and throbbing harder than ever.  The severed tendon in his finger, an accident from when he first learned to cut pork, was still severed.  This hunk of flesh and bone felt like a soggy old sweat suit compared to the gleaming perfect steel body he’d just left.  There was more screaming, this time in a voice that didn’t reverberate like a shitty dime store transistor radio, and pouring from a throat so dry it almost made him raw to scream so.

“Hurts like a bitch, don’t it?”

Barry’s panic seemed to dial itself back a few notches when he heard that familiar voice, and realized he wasn’t alone.  For the first time in a long time, he opened dark grey eyes and was surprised that they were damp with frightened tears.  He looked down to find pasty white arms, double their size and scars that he didn’t recall having before.  Trembling fingers reached up to feel matted, dirty, shaggy hair.  The clothes he had on were horrifically filthy, worn thin and tattered.  The metal plate he remembered (on what he thought was his corpse) was gone, but thick scar tissue remained in its place.

More than anything in the world, he wanted a hot shower and some clean clothes.  But, he reasoned, if he was back here in the ‘White Place’, then he probably wouldn’t have to worry for too much longer about something as trivial as a bath.  “Shit.  I been hurt worse, this ain’t nothin’.”  He gazed at the being, a reflection of himself when he’d been younger, cleaner, and a calm kind of crazy.  It was eerie to see that thing looking like him, but then again, when his soul had been split, it had looked like him then too. “So what is this?  Hell?” he asked in a shaky voice.

Truth chuckled.  “Hell?  I don’t think so.  But we’re lookin’ at things from different angles, of course.”

Barry felt his teeth clench.  Just like those damn white coats: condescending, arrogant.  Just like himself if he’d thought about it for more than a nanosecond.  “Will I ever get to see blue skies and green grass again?  Or the garnet color of blood or the gold of a pretty girl’s hair?”

Truth chuckled and gave a little huff. “No.”  He watched as the murdering man slumped forward in defeat, sinking to his knees.  Barry's mirror image tilted his head to the side and regarded his overdramatic theatrics.  “You really didn’t learn anything out there, didja?  Are you so retarded that you couldn’t take the lessons that those two brats and their military pals taught you to heart?”

Barry looked up in anger, scared tears carving wet tracks through untold layers of dirt.  “I was supposed to _learn_ something!?  What, that as long as you can draw a transmutation circle or clap your fuckin’ magic hands you don’t have to play by anyone’s fuckin’ rules?!  That you can rip a person in two halves and expect ‘em both to be okay with that!?”

Truth shifted his weight from one foot to the other, listening with a bored expression.  “Barry, you’re a murderer.  Don’t pretend you were some kind of saint before you were split.”

“But still!-”

“Wasn’t you doing the same thing to your victims, Barry?  Wasn’t you just one of them knife wielding crazies that mothers warn their kids about?  _You_ ripped people in two, _you_ expected _them_ and _their families_ to be okay with that.”  Anger began to mar Truth’s borrowed face, distorting his features.  “The lesson was that even the most vile and evil can be redeemed, that if they truly repent and suffer the consequences of their actions with sorrow and honor, they might be saved from eternal damnation.”  He walked over to where Barry was kneeling.  “But since you learned nothin’ when given a second chance at life, it appears that I’ll be forced to get it through your thick skull.”

Truth gripped Barry by the throat, jerking him up and binding his hands with invisible rope and hanging him from an invisible hook and chain.  With a wave of his hand, Barry found himself in the body of a woman, a beautiful one.  He could see large, heaving breasts covered by a magenta colored frock, tendrils of shining red hair falling around his frame of vision…  It dawned on him that Truth meant to recreate his most favorite killing: the rape, murder and disemboweling of a young woman who’d come to buy a pork roast for her son’s birthday dinner.  When Barry screamed, it was in _her_ voice, and when Truth spoke it was in _Barry’s._   “Come on, baby…” Truth cooed evilly, “Lay some of that perfect pussy on me.”  Calloused hands groped and squeezed as a shrill feminine scream rang out.  Suddenly, Barry found himself backhanded, and hard enough that he was dizzy and his lip was busted, albeit the very full and red lipstick covered lip of his victim all those years ago.  “Scream again and I’ll cut your fuckin’ throat out,” Truth growled, uttering the very same words Barry had.

Gasping inside the costume of the woman’s body, Barry looked around.  It was the carving room of the butcher shop he’d worked at years ago, right down to the shivering fluorescent light in the back corner.  He looked up, finding a long chain with a sharp hook, the place that held him ( _her?_ ) suspended from the floor.  To the left and right of him, similar hooks dangled, some with large sides of beef hanging from them waiting to be cut up into steaks and ribs, as well as hunks meant to be ground up for hamburger.  The smell of animal blood was everywhere in the tight, cold room, but above all that, panic had settled in his ( _her?_ ) chest and it hurt to breathe.  He watched as Truth ( _himself!?_ ) eyed him with unrivaled want…  He could see the erection his body carried as he stalked forward, a very large butcher knife meant to scare the woman into silence in his hand.  “Let’s get you out of that tight dress, honey.  Those titties look miserable!” Truth cooed in Barry’s voice.

The Chopper’s psyche was shattering; _he_ was the one who’d raped and killed that woman, but now _Truth_ was playing Barry’s role, and Barry was playing the woman’s part, and… and…

Truth was doing a beautiful job of replaying that horrible event in crystal clear mimicry, as if it had been recorded like a movie.  Truth neither played down nor exaggerated what happened, and Barry knew it.  Sadly, he knew how it was going to end, and if it was this awful already, and nothing had _even happened yet_ …

He watched helplessly as Truth split the dress from the body he now wore, felt as breasts were released from the stiff confines of a plain, white, lace bra and bounced down.  He felt a hot teasing tongue come out to play with the deep tan disks of most certainly _not aroused_ nipples and felt scarred, calloused hands kneading and squeezing.  “Goddamn, I bet your husband snuggles into sleep right in between these beauties, don’t he?” Truth husked as he fished his cock out from under the butcher’s apron.  He rubbed it up and down the inside of the woman’s thighs and Barry squeezed his eyes shut.  “You’re bein’ real good by not screamin’…  Maybe I’ll throw you a nice fuck after all.”

Given that Barry was dangling from the ceiling, his borrowed feet not even touching the ground, Truth fetched a crate from the other side of the room, stepping up and down and moving it into just the right position.  He stood up and tucked one end of the apron into the waist of his faded pants, baring his angry red cock.  He reached out and grabbed Barry’s borrowed woman legs and gripped him hard enough to bruise.  “Now open wide baby, Barry’s got a nice side of beef waitin’ for ya!”

 _‘But…  I’m a_ dude _, where’s he gonna put it!??’_ Barry shouted in his head, still not quite used to the fact that it was like fucking _himself_.  Truth teased the tip of his member in the hot dry split between Barry’s legs (Barry didn’t think the costume body would be so anatomically correct, and it was a feeling altogether new and horrifying to him), and without tenderness or restraint, Truth began to hammer mercilessly inside of him, their skin smacking against each other in a loud staccato rhythm, and Barry felt like his insides were being manually ripped inside out with the lack of wetness to ease the intruder’s path.

“Awww, yeah!” Truth hissed as he continued his relentless assault on the redheaded female figure, watching as tears streamed from her screwed shut eyes and down her grimacing face.  He was sure Barry was feeling the pain she had, and was even more sure of that fact when the woman/Barry made a whispered plea for him to stop, something that had not happened in the original event when Barry had murdered her.  “You mean you don’t like this?!?” Truth balked.  “Don’t worry, honey, Barry’s almost done.”  With a few more frenzied, painful strokes, Truth roared as he flooded the woman with hot, sticky cum, then slid slowly out of her.  Thick blobs of white trailed down Barry’s thighs, dripped down onto the tops of his borrowed feet, ran all the way down to drip off of ruby red toenails onto the floor below _.  ‘This is what I was!?’_ he asked himself through the haze of his victim’s experience.  _‘I was **proud** to be this **monster**!?’_   For the first time in his life, he was ashamed of himself.

Truth caught his breath and then turned back to the female form dangling in the back of a recreation of the butcher shop.  Barry had never been so frightened in all his worthless life.  Truth’s Barry mask made a kind of disappointed expression, and Barry knew this was the part where the real horror would begin.  “I bet woulda come harder if you were still screamin’.  You got a lovely voice, y’know!”  With a cat-like turn, he picked up a filet knife, sprung back to his victim and with a flick of his wrist, he sliced a nipple away effortlessly and held it in his mouth like a pacifier while he trimmed the other one away.  Barry shrieked in pain with the woman’s voice.  Truth made an X shaped cut to the tips of both bloodied nipples and slid the pencil from behind his ear into one of them.  “Look!  They’ll make great candle holders for your son’s birthday cake!”  He stood the grotesque object on a nearby butcher block and cackled wildly.

Barry had never experienced such intense agony in all his days.  Not only was the physical pain enough to beg for death, the fact that it was _him_ who was doing this ( _who had already done it!_ ), was almost more than his brain could handle.  It wasn’t just the recreation of that sunny day in June, it was a mind fuck on a level that no one other than God could give.  And _still,_ the worst was yet to come.

But now a new frightening facet emerged.  Barry was now aware of his victim’s thoughts.  He could see memories she was recalling of her family, imagining their future (images of her children growing up without a mother, thoughts of her husband, wondering how much pain she would have to endure before he finally killed her, and praying that someone would come save her), he could feel her absolute terror and sadness at realizing she was going to die…  It more than made him sick to his stomach; it made him sick to his _soul_.

Truth donned a twisted and crazy smile as he kept fiddling with the nipple/pencil thing, trying to get it to stand up straight before moving on.  He gave her a chilling glance and said,  “Y’know, baby, I bet you’re one of those bitches who has a mirror on the ceiling over your bed.  I bet you like to watch yourself fuck your husband in it, don’tcha?  I bet you like to watch the top of his head as he licks at your cunt, or throw your head back when you're riding him and watch your own tits bouncin’ as you hump him with all ya got!”  He picked up his knife again and dropped to his knees.  “Let me show you what it looks when Barry the Chopper fucks ya!”

Barry shook his head, eyes squeezed shut and begging in that poor woman’s voice for mercy.  In Barry’s crowded mind, he remembered this, how she begged for her life, how she swore she wouldn’t tell anyone anything if he’d only let her go.  She even offered to give him a hundred-thousand Cenz if he’d just ‘ _please, let **me GO!!’**_

Truth mimicked Barry to the T when he chewed his lip in thought for a moment.  Then he looked up at her and quipped, “I think I’d get more enjoyment out of fuckin’ you again.  But thanks for the offer!  It’s awful generous of you, sweet tits!”  He bound her ankles with wadded up shrink wrap from the giant roll off to the side, tied it thick and tight and hooked each rope onto separate hooks, pulling her spread eagle.  Then, Truth brought the blade to the apex of those long legs and delicately began to trim the outer lips of her scarlet haired sex away, carefully avoiding the arteries in the groin.  When he cut the urethra away, urine gushed from inside her, but Truth didn’t seem to mind.  He continued severing her cervix and uterus from her and pulled the entire bloody sheath out of her body, all while Barry wailed in agonizing torment.  Truth hefted the hunk of flesh to the head of his cock and then pushed himself inside.  The bloodied, oozing sheath was suddenly filled and no longer floppy, and he hollered out, “See how well I fill ya up!?  Bet yer husband’s cock ain’t as big as mine!” 

Truth pumped the fleshy hunk of innards over and over, his hands bloody and squeezing.  Suddenly he seized up and filled the thick muscle of the woman’s uterus with thick, sticky cum, and what he did next was even more traumatic than raping her disemboweled femininity.  He took the filet knife, laid it with the blade up against his wilting cock, then split the cervix and all off of his body.  Truth then went the next step and divided the uterus and flayed it open for Barry to see…

“Oh-ho-ho!  What do we have here!?”  Truth plucked a peach pit sized globule out of the flesh and deftly opened it.  He pulled a blood smeared, pale thing from it and cruelly laughed, “Looks like a tiny, little baby redhead!”  He looked it over from all sides, turning it this way and that in the shitty light of the room, then gave it a sniff.  “It’s got that brand new baby smell!” 

Barry screamed as loud and as forceful as he could with rage _he felt_ with _his_ _own heart._   Yes, the recorded memory of the woman was playing throughout the ordeal, but when Barry saw through his own eyes the things he had done (and was doing again), he had to at least try to make Truth stop.  “Please!!  I know the thing is dead already, but you don’t gotta eat him!”  Barry struggled as hard as he was able, being bound and dangling the way he was in this recreation of what was up until now his fondest memory.  Of course, given the amount of his blood loss, that strength was all but gone, and when Truth devoured the embryo with a wet smack of his lips, Barry sobbed _his own tears_.

 _‘What the hell was wrong with me!?!!’_ he roared in his head.  **_‘I ATE a baby!!’_**   He remembered the smugness with which he ate the child when this all happened the first time, how bitter the little booger was, but how invigorating it felt to have eaten a _whole person_ in a single mouthful.  Now all he felt was the soul crushing sorrow and guilt he should have felt from the beginning.  He was so distraught that despite his fading life in this poor woman’s body that he was begging in quiet whispers for Truth to stop, that he was so, so sorry, that he’d learned his lesson…  “Please…  No more…  I beg you, no more…”

Truth’s face shimmered a bit, then morphed into that of the woman Barry’s mind was occupying.  Barry recognized the expression; this was the face she made right before he slit her throat and finally ended her torture.  “Do you know now why that woman wore this look so well?  That look where she wished for death without words?”  Barry sobbed, feeling weaker and weaker by the moment as his life’s blood dripped from the mortal wound _he himself had carved with his own hands._   He nodded, unable to speak.  “What have you learned, Barry?”

“I’ve seen myself for what I really am,” he sobbed weakly.  “I’m a monster, and I don’t deserve anything but the hottest fires of hell for the things I’ve done to others.  So many innocent others…”  He hung his head, humbled by the judgment of God.

“Do you see now why I asked if you learned anything from the Elric boys?  They also sinned, but they’re tryin’ their best to atone for what they did.  They don’t keep committin’ the same crimes over and over, they’re workin’ together with each other and with others to find the path of righteousness again, and I have a feelin’ they ain’t gonna stop any time soon.  I’ll never understand why you couldn’t learn such an easy lesson the first time.”

He stepped forward, the filet knife still in hand, and he slit Barry’s throat in one swift clean swipe, and the illusion dissipated.  Barry fell forward, now looking as he did when he arrived, and collapsed in a heap in front of Truth, who now bore no resemblance to the young blond butcher.  He went back to where he’d been sitting and resumed his eternal waiting, watching as the gate in front of him opened and hundreds of black, wriggling arms with little tiny hands and fingers grabbed Barry’s body and absorbed him into the pitch blackness of hell.


End file.
